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Moving

But this isn’t one of those breaks where I sit in meditative silence, contemplating nothing, and everything. It’s more of a hiatus from things I usually do… to pack and move house… a return to my nomadic ways of not knowing what and when. Just more of the same really, in a different setting.

And believe me when I say that there’s nothing worse for a woman hitting her mid-forties than moving house… yet again…. and I’m quite the pro.

Oh the forties… when everything seems to go out of whack, but then you realise that nature’s just playing with ya… it’s the teaser before the show. So you’ll have your fair share of ills and ails, and menopause will loom large, and then retreat behind some mirage. Given all this I would rather back-peddle time and head out into the vast unknown… what else is there really?… Gigantic backpack on my back, and a large tube of iodex in hand, rather than get a slip-disc from packing a couple of boxes.

Moving house can be a real back-breaker especially when you’ve been malingering with that exercise routine you set out for yourself, and the only walking you do is taking the stairs wherever you go.

Okay… I try!

But this time it’s a double whammy… I’m moving multiple houses, not just the one I live in, in Mumbai, my temporary home, but the one I have in a small town near Mumbai. A place that’s been more of a refuge than a permanent home, where I have come to unwind and recharge… a place where I did live for a while, briefly, but which gave me enough to fill my heart and soul with wonderful memories and with both joys and sorrows. The only downside is that I’ve accumulated so much stuff over the past four decades of living that Noah would probably leave me standing at the pier, baggage-in-tow even if I was the last woman left on earth.

So my break consists of de-cluttering, of sifting and sorting through piles of… everything, and since most of my things comprise either books, art material or kitchen supplies I’m not keen to get rid of any of it… boxing it all, into cartons marked – ‘Immediate’, ‘After-a-while’, and ‘Can be saved for posterity’, which though quite a task in itself, has been made immensely easy thanks to the generosity of a friend who sent in an armful of boxes and carton tape with her name emblazoned all over it.

At least the chances of my stuff getting misplaced during the great move will get drastically reduced.

Unfortunately all this frenetic activity has left me with little energy to cook, and apart from a hastily thrown together fried rice, with oyster and button mushrooms, fiery green chillies, fresh green peas, French beans and baby corn, flavoured with star anise and a few cinnamon sticks, that I dished up one afternoon… I haven’t cooked anything else…

So it’s been take-out…

And the picture speaks for itself…

So yeah, it is tough moving, even for a self-proclaimed nomad, but as far as this little space of mine goes, it’s more of an a bientôt instead of an au-revoir kind of thing… so parting isn’t such sorrow. But I’ll miss the December sunsets from my bedroom window, with the sun retreating in a blaze into the trees and buildings in the distance, tinting the sky with passion, as if to say, “Hey! It’s too early… someone’s gotta turn back the clock”.

Then I’ll sit in the warm glow of a candle as the night grows colder, and sip some wine… content that I’m almost all done… but wistful and contemplative as the flame arises and passes.

And I’ll curl up under my quilt as the day ends… to wake up to the morning sun and the Buddha in deep meditation at my window…